Jeffery Deaver - The Empty Chair

After a moment Lucy said, "Fact is, I don't date much."

"Really?"

Another pause. Sachs looked up and down the dusty, deserted street. The skateboarder was long gone. Lucy took a breath to say something, opted for a long sip of iced tea instead. Then, on impulse, it seemed, the policewoman said, "You know that medical problem I told you about?"

Sachs nodded.

"Breast cancer. Wasn't too advanced but the doctor said they probably should do a double radical. And that's what they did."

"I'm sorry," Sachs said, frowning with sympathy. "You go through the treatments?"

"Yup. Was bald for a while. Interesting look." She sipped more of the iced tea. "I'm three and a half years in remission. So far, so good." Lucy continued, "Really threw me for a loop, that happening. No history of it in my family. Grandmother's healthy as a horse. My mom's still working five days a week at the Mattamuskeet National Wildlife Reserve. She and my dad hike the Appalachian two, three times a year."

Sachs asked, "You can't have kids because of the radiation?"

"Oh, no, they used a shield. It's just… I guess I'm not inclined to date much. You know where a man's hand goes right after you kiss serious for the first time…"

Sachs couldn't argue with that .

"I'll meet some nice guy and we'll have coffee or something but in ten minutes I start to worry about what he's going to think when he finds out. And I end up not returning his phone calls."

Sachs said, "So you've given up on a family?"

"Maybe, when I'm older, I'll meet a widower with a couple grown kids. That'd be nice."

She said this casually but Sachs could hear in her voice that she'd repeated it to herself often.

Maybe every day.

Lucy lowered her head, sighed. "I'd give up my badge in a minute to have children. But, hey, life doesn't always go in the direction we want."

"And your ex left you after the operation? What's his name again?"

"Bud. Not right after. But eight months later. Hell, I can't blame him."

"Why do you say that?"

"What?"

"That you can't blame him?" Sachs asked.

"Just, I can't, I changed and ended up being different. I turned into something he hadn't bargained for."

Sachs said nothing for a moment then she offered, " Lincoln 's different. About as different as they come."

Lucy considered this. "So there's more to you two than just being, what would you say, colleagues?"

"That's right," Sachs said.

"Thought that might be the case." Then she laughed. "Hey, you're a tough cop from the big city… How do you feel about children?"

"I'd like some. Pop – my father – wanted grandkids. He was a cop too. Liked the idea of three generations on the force. Thought People magazine might do a story on us or something. He loved People ."

"Past tense?"

"Died a few years ago."

"Killed on his beat?"

Sachs debated but finally answered, "Cancer."

Lucy said nothing for a moment. Looked at Sachs in profile, back to the lockup. "Can he have children? Lincoln?"

The foam was down in the cup of beer and she sipped in earnest. "Theoretically, yes."

And chose not to tell Lucy that this morning, when they were at the Neurologic Research Institute in Avery, the reason that Sachs had slipped out of the room with Dr. Weaver was to ask if the operation would affect Rhyme's chances of having children. The doctor had said that it wouldn't and had started to explain about the intervention necessary that would enable her to get pregnant. But just then Jim Bell had showed up with his plea for help.

Nor did she tell the deputy that Rhyme had deflected the subject of children every time it came up and she was left to speculate why he was so reluctant to consider the matter. It could have been any number of reasons, of course: his fear that having a family might interfere with his practice of criminalistics, which he needed to keep his sanity. Or his knowledge that quadriplegics, statistically at least, have a shorter life span than the non-disabled. Or maybe he wanted to have the freedom to wake up one day and decide that he'd had enough and that he didn't want to live any longer. Perhaps it was all of these, coupled with the belief that he and Sachs would hardly be the most normal of parents (though she would have countered: And what exactly is normal nowadays?).

Lucy mused, "I always wondered if I had kids would I keep working? How 'bout you?"

"I carry a weapon but I'm mostly crime-scene. I'd cut out the risky stuff. Have to drive slower too. I've got a Camaro that'll churn three hundred sixty horses sitting in my garage in Brooklyn right now. Can't really see having one of those baby seats in it." A laugh. "I guess I'd have to learn how to drive a Volvo station wagon with an automatic. Maybe I could take lessons."

"I can see you laying rubber pulling out of the Food Lion parking lot."

Silence fell between them, that odd silence of strangers who've shared complicated secrets and realize they can go no further with them.

Lucy looked at her watch. "I should get back to the station house. Help Jim make calls about the Outer Banks." She tossed the empty bottle into the trash. Shook her head. "I keep thinking about Mary Beth. Wondering where she is, if she's okay, if she's scared."

As she said this, though, Amelia Sachs was thinking not about the girl but about Garrett Hanlon. Because they'd been talking about children Sachs was imagining how she'd feel if she had a son who was accused of murder and kidnapping. Who was looking at the prospect of spending the night in jail. Maybe a hundred nights, maybe thousands.

Lucy paused. "You headed back?"

"In a minute or two."

"Hope to see you 'fore you leave." The deputy disappeared up the street.

A few minutes later the door to the lockup opened and Mason Germain walked out. She'd never once seen him smile and he wasn't smiling now. He looked around the street but didn't notice her. He strode over the broken sidewalk and disappeared into one of the buildings – a store or bar – on the way to the County Building.

Then a car pulled up across the street and two men got out. Garrett's lawyer, Cal Fredericks, was one and the other was a heavyset man in his forties. He was in a shirt and tie – the top button undone and the sloppy knot of his striped tie pulled down a few inches from his throat. His sleeves were rolled up and his navy sports jacket was draped over his arm. His tan slacks were savagely wrinkled. His face had the kindness of a grade-school teacher. They walked inside.

Sachs tossed the cup in an oil drum outside the deli. She crossed the empty street and followed them into the lockup.

Cal Fredericks introduced Sachs to Doctor Elliott Penny.

"Oh, you're working with Lincoln Rhyme?" the doctor asked, surprising Sachs.

"That's right."

" Cal told me it was mostly because of you two they caught Garrett. Is he here? Lincoln?"

"He's at the County Building right now. Probably won't be there long."

"We have a friend in common. I'd like to say hi. I'll stop by if I get a chance."

Sachs said, "He should be there for another hour or so." She turned to Cal Fredericks. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes'm," the defense lawyer said cautiously; Sachs was, in theory, working for the enemy.

"Mason Germain was talking to Garrett in the lockup earlier. He mentioned Lancaster. What's that?"

"The Violent Felony Detention Center. He'll be transferred there after the arraignment. Held there until the trial."

"It's juvenile?"

"No, no. Adult."

"But he's sixteen," Sachs said.

"Oh, McGuire'll try him as an adult – if we can't work out a plea."

"How bad is it?"

"What, Lancaster?" The lawyer shrugged his narrow shoulders. "He'll get hurt. No getting around that. I don't know how bad. But he will get hurt. A boy like him's gonna be at the bottom of the food chain at VFDC."